


Past tense, future perfect

by MissSlothy



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Family Feels, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-14 02:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16030817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSlothy/pseuds/MissSlothy
Summary: When Steve's mom dies, it leads him to make a new friend - Brad.When he meets Brad again twenty-five years later, he has no idea how much the chance encounter is going to change his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a friend who wanted Steve hurt, Danny worried, angst, kissing, humour, family feels and snuggling. It was a long list but I think I've included everything. Sort of :)
> 
> UK English spelling, unbetaed. And I'm not a medical expert. I just like beating up Steve McGarrett.
> 
> Story is complete. Will post a chapter each day.

It’s twenty five years since his mom died – or when he thought his mom had died.  Time has blurred the memories.  

If Steve thinks back – and he doesn’t often – he can remember the days after her death, the constant stream of people visiting the house: his Dad’s cop buddies, neighbours bringing food, Aunt Deb, Joe.

For a while the house had been full of people talking, a warm constant buzz of concern and sympathy.  He’d eaten when he’d been told to.  He’d gone where he’d been led.  He’d felt like he was moving in slow motion while the world around him was going at full speed.  His bedroom had been his sanctuary, the one place where he could pretend nothing had changed at all.

Some days he didn’t see his dad at all. 

People had their own lives to lead though.  After a while they left. They took their concern and sympathy with them.  Suddenly the house felt cold and hollow.  His bedroom felt like a prison cell.

His mom was the one he could always talk to, the one who _made_ him talk.  The sudden loneliness is the thing he remembers clearly, the memory still raw twenty five years on.  It makes him feel sick to the core.

When his dad had told him he had to go back to school Mary had cried.  He’d been relieved.

The relief hadn’t lasted long.  There had been more sympathy, more concern.  But mostly the other kids had treated him as an oddity, the kid whose mom had died in a car crash - everyone had seen it on the TV.   

He’d got by.  He’d learnt to use humour to deflect their endless questions.  Being a star football player didn’t hurt either.  It gave him – and everyone else – a different focus.  But sometimes it became too much.  He’d slip away during lunch break, try to find himself somewhere quiet to hide. That’s when he’d discovered the disused janitor’s closet at the end of the hallway.  Covered in dust, the cracked glass in the small window covered with duct tape, there were two battered plastic chairs in the corner.  The lock in the door was rusted, jammed open from lack of use.

The first time he’d crept in, anxiously looking back over his shoulder.  The last thing his dad needed was a call from the Principal.  He’d stood in the middle of the room for ages, straining to pick up any sound outside.  Eventually he’d let himself relax into the silence.  It felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

The second time he’d taken his lunch and study books with him.  The sandwich he’d made that morning tasted awful: his dad hadn’t bought groceries for days.  But it was still the best lunch he’d had for a while.

By the second week he was looking forward to lunch.  It was the one hour of the school day when no one was watching him behind his back, waiting to see if the kid who’d lost his mom would crack.  Mary wasn’t following him like a shadow, scared to let him out of her sight.  He didn’t have to persuade his dad to eat dinner or comfort Mary after she went to bed.

He could be _him._

Then one day he walked into the room and someone was already sitting there.  The shock of finding the interloper felt like a sharp slap to the face.

Hovering in the doorway, Steve stared at the other kid.  The other kid stared back at him, a flash of fear crossed his face.  Tense, nervous, it was a toss-up which one of them would bolt first.

Steve dug his heels in.  The other kid raised his chin.  He was tall and skinny, taller than Steve, with shoulder-length blonde hair that fell into his eyes.  He shoved it out of the way with his hand, impatiently.  Then suddenly he sighed, his body folding in on itself in the chair.  Lips turning down, he picked up the open book on his lap and carried on reading.

A name popped into Steve’s head.  _Brad._ The other kid’s name was Brad.  They were in the same grade, took some classes together.  Brad was a science geek, the guy on the back row of the classroom who kept himself to himself and aced every test.  

Steve crossed his arms and scowled.  Brad was in his space.  He had the whole damn school to go hide in and he’d chosen _his_ space.  It felt like the ultimate betrayal, like someone had revealed his deepest secret.  It’s wasn’t fucking _fair_ —

_Steve._

It’s his mom’s voice in his head, gently admonishing him.  For a second he can feel her hand on his cheek, warm and comforting.  It’s so real, so vivid.  Then his mind rips the fantasy away and he remembers: he’s never going to get to talk to her again.

Grief hits him, an unstoppable wave.   A sob threatens to escape.  He blinks as his vision blurs. 

Brad chooses that moment to meet his gaze.  As he peers out from under his fringe there’s sympathy and understanding in his eyes.

Anger flares.  It’s been simmering under Steve’s skin ever since his mom died.  Anger at so many things.  The sob escapes, followed by another one.   Steve clenches his hands into fists, fighting to keep the anger and grief trapped inside.

A shadow crosses Brad’s face.  He sighs again, looks pointedly at the empty chair before turning his attention back to the book.

Steve scrubs at his eyes and nose with the back of his hand.  He can feel his cheeks burning with shame.  He wants to run for it but there’s nowhere, no one, to run to.  Dragging in a breath he forces himself to walk into the room.  Keeping his back slightly turned to Brad, he takes the empty seat. 

_Suck it up._

It’s his dad’s voice admonishing him this time, like he does every time Steve complains how hard football training is.   Taking his books out of his bag, Steve forces himself to focus on the words.  They waver in his blurred vision. 

Beside him, Brad carries on reading.

H50H50H50H50

They fall into a routine, with both of them using the room during lunch break.  Gradually they start to talk.  Kind of. 

Brad’s not big on talking: there’s a fragile wariness about him Steve recognises.  Asking around, Steve finds out Brad’s dad passed the year before and his mom’s not handling it too well.   Brad’s often absent from school.  When he comes back he carries an air of bone-deep weariness.  Steve understands that too.

Their awkward friendship grows.  Brad has no interest in football but Steve gains an appreciation for chemistry.  Occasionally they’ll sit together in class.  They share homework notes, discuss classes while they eat lunch.  There are boundaries though, unspoken but uncrossable.  As soon as they leave school each day it’s as if they don’t know each other.  They split up and go their own ways.

It works.

Then Steve’s dad announces he’s sending him to the Army and Navy Academy in California.

Steve’s in a daze the next day when he gets to school.  In just a week’s time he’s gonna be leaving.  It feels like his world is being torn away from him again.  Mary had cried so much he’d ended up sharing her bed with her.  Holding her tight, he’d promised he’d always be there for her, no matter where they both were.  It’d been enough to reduce her sobs to hiccups, and eventually sleep.  But he’d laid awake all night, worrying; if he broke that promise it would break Mary’s heart.

Keeping the news a secret isn’t an option.  His dad’s already called the Principal, his homeroom teacher already knows.  Everyone he talks to is jealous he’s going to the mainland because, according to them, nothing exciting ever happens on the islands.  After the first few tries, he doesn’t bother trying to explain why he’d rather stay.  When lunch break finally crawls round he’s so miserable he’s answering everyone’s questions in mono-syllables.  He has to restrain himself from running to the sanctuary of the janitor’s closet.

Brad’s not there.

Brad doesn’t turn up that week.  The teaching staff shrug when Steve asks after him.  With hundreds of kids to deal with Brad’s just another number on the student roll.  It crosses his mind to lie to a teacher in the hope he can find out where Brad lives.  The thought fades quickly: his own misery is all-too consuming for him to find the time or energy to worry about Brad too. 

On his last day he goes to the room for lunch, as normal.  His shoulders slump when he sees Brad still isn’t there.  Ignoring the books and lunch in his backpack, he takes out a notepad.  Scribbling a brief message he explains he’s leaving.  Placing it on Brad’s seat, he turns and leaves.

He doesn’t see Brad for another twenty five years.

H50H50H50H50

Steve walks out of the bank, squinting against the sunlight.  He has a sudden urge to go back in the building, with its air-conditioning.  The midday heat is brutal.   Danny’s walking a couple of steps behind.  Head down, hands jammed in this pockets, it’s obvious his partner isn’t enjoying the heat either.  They’ve been working on this case for four days straight.  Both of them are struggling with fatigue.

Steve checks out their surroundings, realises where they are. “How about a break?”  he suggests, hopefully.  There’s a sushi place a block away they both love.  “We can check out the other banks on the list later.”

Danny shakes his head.  “One more, babe.”  His tone is insistent but the deep sigh he lets out speaks volumes. 

Steve concedes defeat with a sigh of his own.  A series of violent bank robberies across Oahu have left one person dead and several wounded.  Five 0 have been assigned the case.  Following up the leads, trying to guess where the gang will hit next, it all takes manpower.  HPD are helping but today he are Danny are still the ones visiting potential targets, looking for anything that will help them predict where the next hit could be and who’s behind it. 

Even Danny, with his love for good old fashioned detective work, had struggled not to lose his temper with the bank executive they’d just spoken to.  The guy had been convinced the security systems he had in place meant his bank would never be targeted.

“Dick,” Danny mutters under his breath, as if reading Steve’s mind.

Steve sniggers.  Danny’s at his snarky best when faced with pompous officials.  Snarky Danny is one of his favourite things.  It makes even the worst day more bearable.  As they reach the parking lot he retrieves the keys for the Camaro from his pocket.  “Where next?” 

When he gets no reply, he turns back.  Danny’s staring at something across the lot.  Eyebrows drawn together, he’s chewing on his bottom lip.

“Danny?”

“Didn’t that idiot say the cleaning company come in before the bank opens?”

Steve follows Danny’s line of sight.  Across the other side of the parking lot a van’s pulled up outside the bank.  It’s got the cleaning company’s logo on the side.  Three men are getting out.  They’re wearing long sleeved tops, baseball caps and trousers.  Everything is black.

Danny tenses as the three men pull up hoods over the baseball caps.  “Little overdressed, wouldn’t you say?”

Steve hums his agreement, already reaching for his phone.  Following Danny, he weaves his way through the parked cars in the lot.  By the time they come out the other side he’s briefed Lou and requested backup.  The three men are on the move, walking towards the bank.  Instead of cleaning equipment they’re carrying holdalls that look suspiciously long.

Steve rests his hand on his gun.  “Ready?”

Beside him, Danny does the same.  “Ready.”

Steve reminds himself there’s a slim chance they are actually the real cleaning crew.   So he makes sure he announces their presence loudly and clearly.

The men hear him just fine.

One man pushes the other two out of the way, then jumps back in the van.  Before he’s had a chance to slam the door shut the van’s moving, its wheels spinning.   Gunning the engine, the driver weaves down the road, barely missing another car. Within seconds the van has disappeared from sight.

The two men left behind freeze.  Steve can’t see their faces under their hoodies and caps but he can read their body language: he knows before they do they’re going to bolt.  So does Danny, who picks up the pace, advancing on them, yelling at them to put down their guns.  There’s a moment when Steve thinks they might actually do it, that the men have realised just how much trouble they’re in.  Then stupidity trumps brain power.  They both decide to run.

Danny curses loudly as the men split in opposite directions.  Steve’s too busy updating Lou to answer.  But he’s got a few curse words he’d like to use.  Two on two would have been better odds for him and Danny.  One on one adds an element of risk he’s not happy with.

“Be careful,” he yells as Danny peels off, in pursuit of the first suspect.  Danny throws a look back at him which Steve has no problem translating: _Don’t do anything stupid, babe._

Steve falls in behind the other suspect.  They’re running across the top of the parking lot, in front of the bank.  Steve raises his gun, yells a warning, tries to get a shot but there are too many civilians around, too many potential victims.  The suspect’s still got the holdall under his arm, tucked in tight. 

A SUV pulls out between them.  Steve backpedals, throws out his arms to stop himself running straight into it.  He looses sight of the other man.  Precious seconds are lost as the driver reverses out of the way.  When he does, the holdall is revealed, discarded on the ground.  It’s empty.

“Shit.” 

Steve slows his pace, steadies his breathing.  In the distance he can hear police sirens approaching.  His role now is to contain the situation, not confront.  They’ve got two suspects who are armed and dangerous.  And Danny is out there on his own.

Working his way along the cars, he checks behind each one.  Circling back, following Danny round the other side of the building, is an option.  His heart is screaming at him it’s the right thing to do.  Experience tells him that’s a bad idea.  Exposing his back to a suspect would be suicide.  And Danny’s more than capable of looking after himself.

In the end, the decision is made for him.  His suspect’s waiting for him around the next corner.  And he’s got a female hostage and a Remmington shotgun.

“Five 0.  Put the gun down!”

Steve takes aim, looking for a clean shot past the hostage.  The suspect’s face is in shadow, obscured by the peek of his baseball cap.  With one arm wrapped around the woman, he’s having to hold the shotgun with one hand.  Steve knows from experience that’s not easy; it’s heavy, designed to be held with two hands.  One handed it’s virtually impossible to shoot straight.

He takes a step forward.

The woman screams as the suspect raises the gun, pointing the end of the barrel at her.  “Stay back, man.  Keep away or I’m gonna shoot her.”

For the first time he’s looking straight at Steve.  Eyes wide, it’s clear he’s terrified.  His face is pale, covered in a sheen of sweat.  Long, greasy blonde hair is sticking out from the edges of the hoodie.  Unkempt stubble covers the bottom half of his face.

Recognition starts as an irritating itch in the back of Steve’s mind.  Mostly he’s concentrating on not getting himself or the hostage shot.  Eventually the itching can’t be ignored.  Steve looks at the suspect – really looks – and suddenly it’s twenty five years ago and he’s back in the janitor’s closet.  A cold lump of dread settles in his stomach.

“Brad?” 

Brad scowls back at him.  His eyes are glassy, the confused stare of someone high on drugs.

 _Damn._ Steve takes a breath, wills his heart to slow.  Memories are battering at his defences.  He tightens his grip on his gun.  “It’s Steve.  Steve McGarrett.  High School, remember?”

Brad tilts his head.  The gun lowers slightly.  “High School?”

Steve licks his lips.  His heart’s thundering in his eardrums.  “Breaktime.  The janitor’s closet?” he says, keeping his tone even.  “Remember?”

Brad squints at him.  Steve holds his aim.  The hostage starts sobbing, heaving, panicked sobs.

Steve takes another step forward.   Brad’s still staring at him.  He’s loosened his grip on the woman.  He might be able to get a shot.  “Let her go, buddy.  If you let her go I can still help you.  Do you understand?”

Brad nods but it’s shaky, uncertain.  The gun wobbles in his hand and the woman’s sobs grow louder.

“Brad.  Brad.  Listen to me.  I can help you, okay?  Like we helped each other in High School.  You remember High School.  You trusted me, right?”

“I don’t know.  I can’t.  They made me promise—” Brad’s eyes are wild, his mouth twitching with confusion.

“You can.”  Steve takes another step.  He’s only a couple of feet from Brad now.  He can smell sweat and the cloying odour of warm musk perfume, two familiar scents of fear.  The woman’s eyes are pleading with him.  Mascara is dribbling down her face. 

Steve takes a steadying breath - then he slowly spreads his arms wide, his gun tucked in the palm of his hand.

In the back of his mind he can hear Danny yelling at him to take the shot.  Loudly.  _So_ loudly.  But instinct is telling him this is the right thing to do.  Brad’s wavering, he can feel it.  And if he’s wrong…well if he’s wrong then he’s close enough to grab the Brad and the shotgun.   

Danny’s volume rises a couple of decibels.

Brad eyes him suspiciously.  But gradually the shotgun lowers.  The arm holding the woman falls away. 

Then two unexpected things happen.  The woman bolts for freedom.  And the other suspect runs out from the other side of the building, behind Brad.  Danny’s still close on his heels.

Brad panics, fumbles his grip on the shotgun. Steve raises his gun. The shotgun goes off.  Danny’s yelling – really yelling this time – and there’re two more shots, the familiar ring of Danny’s SIG Sauger discharging. 

Steve falls to the ground.

He doesn’t realise at first he’s falling.  His focus is on Brad: he’s twisting in mid-air, the result of Danny’s bullet punching him in the back.  Brad drops to the ground and in his place is Danny, still aiming his gun, fear written across his face.

Steve hits the asphalt hard.  There’s no chance to cushion his fall.  The air in his lungs whooshes out.  Everything tips sideways as he lands on his side.  Brad’s lying spread-eagled on the ground in front of him.  Beyond him on the ground is the other suspect.  The one person he needs to see isn’t there though: Danny’s disappeared.

His adrenaline level spikes, giving him the energy to move.  One arm is trapped under his body, he reaches out with the other to push himself up.  His body feels sluggish, like it’s dragging a heavy weight.  Gritting his teeth, annoyed with his own weakness, he tries pushing up again.

“Hey.  Hey.  What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Danny’s loafers appear in Steve’s vision, quickly followed by the rest of him as he kneels down.  His hair is hanging in his face, sweat is dotting his brow.  He’s breathing like he’s just run the 100m sprint.  Steve beams up at him.  He’s never been so relieved to see someone. 

His happiness quickly turns to worry: Danny’s checking him over and there’s a scowl growing on his face.  “I’m fine,” he insists, batting Danny’s hands away.  Or he would if he could get his arms to work: it feels like he’s dragging them through quicksand.

“Stay still.”

Steve stills: there’s a tone in Danny’s voice he can’t ignore.  Fear wraps itself around his chest, constricting his lungs.  As his eyes drift closed he tells himself to relax, to just _breathe_.

“No, no, no.  I need you to stay awake, babe.  Talk to me.  You with me?”

_I’m with you._

“Steven!”

Dragging his eyelids open feels like a monumental effort.  Getting his lips and tongue to work is even harder.  “I’ wi’ you.”

“Good.  Good.”  Danny pats his face, lets his hand linger.  Then it’s gone again.

 There’s prodding.  Then some more prodding.  Then his world fills with pain.

 _“Fuck.”_ Panting, he tries to curl away from it.  Moving makes it worse.  His vision goes at the edges.

“Sorry, babe.  I’m sorry.”  There’s a note of desperation in Danny’s voice that makes Steve’s heart clench.  “You took a hit.  Left leg.”

“H’w ‘ad?”

“Stay still.”  Danny breaks off, his voice fading as he turns to speak to someone else.  Suddenly he’s back, so close Steve can feel Danny’s breath on his face.  “All you have to do is stay awake.  You got that?  Steve?”

“H’w ‘ad?”

“Paramedics are here.”  

“D’nny.”

Danny’s hand grips his.  He can barely feel it.  “They’re gonna fix you up.”

The thought flitters across his mind that if Danny’s deflecting this much, it must be bad _._ Then it’s gone, sliding away into darkness as his brain shuts down.

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

H50H50H50H50H50

Steve feels like he’s floating, trapped inside his own head.  Sounds and smells are swirling together, just out of reach.  Nothing makes sense.  He drifts, slowly sinking back down into the emptiness of his mind.

Eventually the world comes back to him.

It starts off with familiar voices.  The names attached to them elude him but he follows their sound.  Latching on, he lets them pull him up through the darkness.

Vision follows, slowly at first.  Lights flashing in his eyes, accompanied by more voices.  Vaguely he’s aware of light and dark through his closed eyelids. 

He still feels like he’s disconnected from his body.  His sluggish mind struggles to understand.  Fighting against the restriction it reaches out, prodding at nerves and synapses.  Stubborn and determined, it makes him open his eyes. 

Eyelids at half-mast, he tries to take in his surroundings.  Everything’s blurred, fading into the shadows.  Moving his eyes is almost too much effort; his eyelids start to droop.  He’s teetering on the edge of defeat, ready to fall back into the abyss of unconsciousness when he sees what he hadn’t realised he’d been looking for.

Danny’s in a chair beside the bed.  He’s slumped forwards, asleep, his head resting on his arms on the bed.  Only the top of his head is visible: someone’s draped a blanket over him.

Steve watches for as long as he can.  His eyelids feel like they’ve got lead weights on them.  It’s a losing battle, with an inevitable end.

He slides back to sleep.

H50H50H50H50

“Steve?  Come on, buddy.  I need you to stay awake.”

Slowly, grudgingly, Steve opens his eyes.  Instead of Danny sitting by the bed, it’s Lou.  He grins back with obvious relief.

“There you are.  You gonna stay with us this time?”

Steve listens to the question but none of the words link together.  His confusion must be showing on his face because Lou grips his forearm, squeezing gently.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been awake.”  He leans forward, studies Steve’s face, nods at what he sees.  “First time you’ve actually been tracking.  I’ll get the nurse.”

Lou’s getting up.  Steve tries to reach out to stop him but the signals from his brain to his limbs are moving in slow-motion.  Instead of making a grab he flails with his hand.  Luckily it’s enough to get Lou’s attention.

Steve swallows and winces.  His throat is sandpaper dry.  Nausea is making his stomach roll. “D’nny?”

Lou shushes him with his hand.  He disappears out of Steve’s vision for a moment then reappears with a cup of water and a straw.  “Let me do the talking.”

Steve sucks on the straw, sighing with relief as the water soothes his throat.  “What ‘appened?”

Lou rolls his eyes at Steve’s inability to follow orders.  “Danny’s fine.  Rachel’s away on the mainland so he’s got Charlie this week.  He’s taking him to school.”

Steve works through the information.  He frowns.  Danny wasn’t supposed to have Charlie until Monday. 

“Yeah,” Lou confirms, watching him carefully.  “You’re in Kings Medical.  You’ve been in and out for nearly three days.”

Steve blinks.  Lou offers him the water again.   Three days is a long time.  As he sucks up more water Steve does an inventory of his body.  Or he tries to: his brain still feels like it’s crawling through quicksand.

“They’ve got you on some pretty good pain medication,” Lou says gently, pulling the straw away again.  “I’ll get the doc so he can tell you—”

Steve tries to stop him with his hand again.  This time it actually does what he asks.  “Lou.”

Lou takes his hand, gripping his fingers.  He squeezes softly.  “I’ll get the doc.”

If the gesture is meant to be reassuring, it doesn’t work.  Steve can feel his anxiety building: he hates the way drugs rob him of control. 

When the doctor arrives he’s wearing a nervous expression.  Steve soon understands why: the situation report isn’t good.  The birdshot from the Brad’s Remmington, fired at near point-blank range, had ripped through his left leg.  On the way it nicked an artery and caused extensive damage to muscles and nerves. 

Steve tunes out the in-depth medical details.  He can read between the lines just fine.  If Danny hadn’t turned up there’s a good chance he would had bled out in that parking lot.  And It’s going to take months of physiotherapy to put right the damage. 

He’s lucky to be alive.

H50H50H50H50

Lou hovers after the doctor leaves and tries to make small talk.  Steve keeps up for a while but eventually he starts to tire.  The nurses who keep appearing at regular intervals have lowered the dosage of pain medication and he’s grateful: the fog is starting to lift from his brain.  But in its place the memories are returning.   Memories of high school, of his mom…of the fear on Danny’s face when the gun went off.

He closes his eyes against them but they keep coming.  His body aches, right down to his bones.  As much as he’s grateful for Lou’s presence he’s relieved when his friend says he needs to go.  Lou offers his hand and Steve takes it, holding on as long as he can.  He wishes he could explain exactly what happened at the bank – he can see the questions in Grover’s eyes, the worry behind the smiling facade – but everything’s too mixed up in his head.

After Lou’s gone getting comfortable in the bed is impossible; every time he tries to move everything aches more.  When his nurse suggests more pain medication Steve barely hesitates.  The only thing he wants to do now is sleep.

H50H50H50H50

A hand wraps around his forearm.  It catapults him out of sleep.  Instinct makes him jerk away from the contact.  Pain shoots up his left leg.

“Ssh, ssh, ssh,” someone soothes, gripping his hand when he groans.  Dragging in air, he tries to breathe through the pain.  He’d been dreaming - a vague fog of mixed up high school memories – and the images are lingering.  Sorting out what’s real and what’s fantasy makes his brain spin.  When he opens his eyes part of him is still expecting it to be 1992.

Danny’s leaning over him.  The lines around his eyes are crinkled with concern.  They ease slightly as Danny realises he’s awake.  But Steve still feels a pang of guilt as he takes in his friend’s face.  The dark shadows under Danny’s eyes, the pinched set to his mouth; that’s all his fault.

“You want me to get someone?” Danny asks, his eyes travelling over Steve’s face again.  His eyes darken.  “I’m gonna get someone.”

“No.”  Steve tightens his grip on Danny’s hand.  “I’m good.” 

Danny opens his mouth, then closes it, his teeth audibly clacking.  He exhales, looks away and then back again.  Steve gets it – his high-pitched tone isn’t fooling either of them – but he’s grateful when Danny slumps back in his chair.

They stare at each other.  Danny’s hands are clenched in his lap.  His right foot is tapping out an impatient rhythm. 

Steve waits as long as he can. There are words bubbling inside him.  He feels like he’s going to explode.  “Danny.  I’m so-“

Danny nods towards the table by the bed.  There’s a food tray on it.  “You missed dinner.”

Steve’s heart hitches against his ribs; Danny’s voice is simmering with anger. “I’m sorry, okay.”

Danny peers at the tray.  His bottom lip juts out.  “Don’t be.  It’s soup.  And jello. You hate jello—”

“Not for dinner.  Would you stop…”  Steve reaches out, trying to grab Danny’s attention.  His body instantly reminds him why his left leg is wrapped in surgical dressings.

Danny’s on his feet again in a flash.  He grips Steve’s shoulder as he closes his eyes against the spike of pain.  “What’s wrong with you, huh?  You’re gonna pop your stitches you keep doing that.  Why can’t you follow orders like normal people?”

Steve closes his eyes, focuses on the warmth of Danny’s hand, the way he’s stroking soothing circles over his shoulder blade.  Gradually he gets his body back under control.  He opens his eyes.  Danny’s watching him, his eyebrows drawn together in a single, severe line.  They both know they’re not talking about jello or stitches.  If Steve’s honest with himself – and he often is, more often than Danny gives him credit for – he knows they’re not just talking about the incident at the bank.

Steve meets his friend’s eyes, willing him to understand.  “I had to do it.”

Danny removes his hand.  Steve feels bereft.  He watches as Danny sits back down.  His head goes down, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands dangling.  There’s a pause before he looks up again: to Steve it seems to go on forever.

“See, this is the thing,” Danny starts, his hands coming up to illustrate his words. “You can’t keep doing this.  This self-sacrificing thing.”

“I had no choice—”

“You had a choice.”  Danny hasn’t raised his voice but Steve can see the vein in his forehead is pulsing.  “You made the wrong choice.”

“I didn’t—”

“He could have killed you.”  Danny’s breathing hard: it sounds abnormally loud in the tense atmosphere.  “He nearly did.”  Danny’s voice breaks.  Cursing he gets to his feet and starts pacing, one hand running back and forth over his hair. 

Steve blinks back the emotion that’s threatening to overwhelm him.  Silence falls between them again, more brittle this time.

“He was my friend,” Steve offers eventually.  He’s picking his words carefully.  Twenty five years on, he’s not sure if that statement’s true.

Danny stops pacing.  He sighs, a deep, exhausted sigh.  “Who?  Brad?”

“Yeah.  At high school.  We—”

Danny raises a hand to stop him.  Pulling out the chair, he slumps back down.  “We figured that out,” he explains, running his hand across his face.  “Actually Junior figured it out.” Danny studies his hands, his expression distance.  When he looks up again, the anger is back in his eyes.  “Is that why you gave him a chance?  Because he’s your friend?”

Steve nods slowly.  He’s still struggling to understand what happened at the bank and he knows it’s not just because of the drugs.  “I didn’t realise it was him until I had the gun on him.” He shakes his head.  “If I’d recognised him earlier then maybe—”

“—then maybe you wouldn’t have nearly died.  Yeah.  That would have been good.”  Danny exhales slowly.  His body slumps further, like all the air’s been let out of him.  “So if he’s your friend,” he continues, his voice softening, “why haven’t you asked about him?”

“What?”

“Brad.  You haven’t asked anyone about him.  You haven’t asked me, the nurses, the doctor.  You didn’t ask Lou. No, you haven’t,” he insists gently, raising a finger as Steve opens his mouth to protest.  “I checked, babe.”

“Oh.”  Steve frowns, mentally flicking through everything that’s happened since he woke up in the hospital.  Brad’s there, in his high school memories.  But his brain’s just filed away the brutality of what Brad did in the parking lot like it never happened.

“Yeah,” Danny breathes, watching his expression.  “That’s what I figured.” 

Steve stares back at him, floundering.  He’s grateful when Danny rests a hand on top of his.

“He’s gonna make it,” Danny explains, squeezing his fingers.

Something unknots in Steve’s chest.  He hadn’t realised he’d assumed Brad was dead.  “Danny—”

Danny grips his hand tighter, leans closer to get his attention.  He takes a shuddering breath. “But if he hadn’t it wouldn’t have been on you.  It _wouldn’t._   He made choices.”

“I _know_.  But I couldn’t just—"  Steve winces.  The grip on his hand has turned vice-like.

“No.”  Danny’s eyes are flashing with fierce anger.  “When I saw you with your hands up…he shot you.  He shot you and I thought…”  Danny’s voice peters out and he looks away.  “I can’t keep doing this, babe.  I can’t.”

The last few words are laced with defeat.  Steve wishes he could turn back time.  Instead he squeezes Danny’s hand back, tugs gently to get his attention.  “I _am_ sorry.”

The expression in Danny’s eyes as he turns back is fond.  But his body is still slumped with exhaustion.  “I know.”

There’s no time to say more.  A nurse interrupts and Steve’s subjected to a now familiar list of questions.  He’s answers them truthfully – Danny’s still listening – but the prodding and poking takes its toll.  He’s fighting back a yawn by the time she leaves.

Danny gets to his feet and stretches, balancing on the tips of his toes.  “You need your sleep,” he chides, rolling back on his heels, “and Charlie’s gonna wonder where I am.”

_Charlie._ Steve’s suddenly awake again. “You should have said something.  You didn’t need to stay.”

“He’s good.”  Danny smiles to himself, shakes his head.  “Renee’s looking after him.  She spoils him rotten.  Grace has been sleeping over too.”

Steve nods.  Lou and Renee have been missing Samantha since she went to college, they’re probably glad of the extra company.  Another yawn creeps up and this time he’s powerless to stop it.  Now he knows everyone’s fine exhaustion is sweeping in.  He’s vaguely aware of Danny promising to drop by the next day, of his hand resting on his cheek as he says goodnight.  Then he gives into sleep.

He dreams again but this time it’s not about his mom or high school.  The conversation with Danny has released more recent memories in his head: he’s back in the bank parking lot.  It starts off as an action replay of what actually happens.  But as his sleep deepens his brain becomes more creative, weaving the images together into new patterns, blurring what is real and what is not. 

Steve’s grateful by the time morning comes, when the nurse wakes him up with an apologetic smile.  He’d been dreaming about the moment Brad pulled the trigger.  But he hadn’t shot Steve – he’d shot Danny instead. 

H50H50H50H50

Steve hates being in the hospital but the next few days pass surprisingly quickly.

The first time he gets out of bed hurts like hell.  After that it gets easier.  Pain is just a state of mind (mostly).  Getting mobile is the route to recovery.  The physical therapist says it’ll be twelve weeks until he’s fully fit for duty.  He tells her he’s setting a target of ten.   She studies his face then nods, minutely.  Steve relaxes, forces himself to smile: they’re gonna get on just fine.

Despite the positive thinking, getting around on crutches sucks.  He’s not a novice on them but it’s the first time he’s had such limited movement in his knee.  Keeping his weight balanced is a challenge.  In between enforced naps (and it sucks that he needs those too) he practices.  It’s not long before he knows all the staff on the floor by name: they greet him as he hobbles past.

Danny catches up with him the first morning he escapes from his room.  Steve’s relieved to see he looks like he’s got some sleep.  Danny hovers as he navigates the corridor on his crutches, one hand sneaking out to catch him when he wobbles.  But as Steve gets more adept they start talking.  Mostly it’s about family, about what Grace and Charlie have been up to.  The one thing they’d don’t talk about is work.

The next day Grover, Tani and Junior takes it in turns to walk around the floor with him.  Steve’s under no illusion, he knows Danny’s engineered this.  He knows because the three of them won’t talk to him about work either.  It’s like they’re working from a script.  He appreciates their company though, the warmth of their constant chatter.  It keeps him moving when all he wants to do is stop.

Officers from HPD come to take his statement: as one of the first officers on the scene his statement is crucial.  He runs through the events with them methodically and impassively.  It’s just another case, one more success for the Governor’s task force.

Sometimes he wonders how Brad is doing.  But still he doesn’t ask.  Concern for Brad – the Brad he used to know in high school – is morphing into animosity. 

Being injured in the line of duty, making a questionable decision; those are problems he can work through.  Watching his team worry about him though?  Watching _Danny_ worry?

He’s angry as hell about that.

H50H50H50H50

Three days later the physical therapist finally gives in to his constant needling: she says he can go home.

Danny’s the one who drops off the board shorts and tee-shirt for him, the night before he goes home.  It’s Lou though who comes to collect him.  Steve swallows his disappointment, forces himself to smile. 

The team’s been busy tying up the bank heist case – they might not have been talking about work but Steve can read between the lines.  And Danny’s in charge in Steve’s absence, he can’t be in two places at once.

Perhaps sensing he’s a poor replacement, Lou’s more effusive than normal, filling in the gaps when Steve doesn’t join in.  In other circumstances it might be annoying but after a few minutes Steve’s feeling grateful.  Getting dressed, getting settled in the wheelchair, it’s really awkward with his leg strapped up.  Lou’s chatter helps him mask his discomfort.

There’s paperwork to sign and the doctor arrives to give him his discharge instructions.  Lou sits off to one side, phone out, answering his emails.  Or at least that’s what he says he’s doing.  Steve knows better.  He catches Lou’s gaze, raises an eyebrow.  Lou rolls his eyes in reply.  The wry smile that creeps up on him confirms Steve’s suspicions: Danny’s told him to take notes. 

Finally the doctor finishes.  Steve raises an eyebrow at Lou. “You got that?”

Lou snaps his phone shut, pushes himself to his feet.  “Sure.  Eat. Sleep. Take it easy on the exercise.  What?” he adds as the bemused looking doctor tries to correct him, “he’s gonna do whatever he goddamn wants.  Trust me.”

Steve tries to look remorseful.  It’s difficult when he’s trying not to laugh.  “He’s right,” he tells the doctor as Lou takes control of the wheelchair.  “Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” Lou sing-songs under his breath as they head out. 

Steve grins as he says goodbye to the nurses.  His mood is lifting; Lou’s done a good job.  It lifts even more when they get outside and a beaten up family saloon car pulls up beside them.

“Where the hell have you been, man?” Lou calls to the driver.  It’s Danny and he’s looking harassed.

“Stopped by HPD car pound to borrow this pile of shit,” Danny huffs as he gets out.  “There was no way Steve’s gonna get in the Camaro or your truck.”

Lou shrugs then nods his acceptance.  “True.  With that leg of his getting in and out would be real difficult—”

“Long legs,” Danny cuts in, walking round the car to join them.  “Stupidly long leg—"

“Hey.” Steve waves to get their attention.  “Someone want to give the injured guy a hand?”

Lou and Danny seem to be considering his question.  Steve shakes his head in mock-disgust.  With Danny back beside him he can feel his energy returning.  It’s like Danny is the cure for all his ills.

This is a good thing – because getting into the car still takes a lot more energy than it should do.  It involves reversing into the back seat and using his arms to drag himself backwards.  Steve’s body is aching as Lou says goodbye and Danny gets back in the driver’s seat.  Danny switches on the radio as they leave the hospital and join the main highway; the sounds of an 80’s rock station fills the cab.  Steve lets himself drift, a sense of calm settling over him.

Getting home, getting out of the car, is an experience he’d rather not remember.  There are pain meds in his bloodstream but every movement still jars his leg.  And hobbling into the house, Danny walking close beside him, is like taking a trip back in time.  Standing in the doorway it suddenly hits him how much he hasn’t changed the interior.  So many things are still like they were in 1992.

One change he has made – Eddie’s basket in the corner of the living room – is missing.  Junior’s looking after him while Steve is off his feet.  When Danny had explained this to him in the hospital it had seemed like a good idea.  Now he’s in the house it feels like Eddie’s someone else he’s let down.

Danny taps him on the elbow, forcing him to look away from where Eddie’s basket would be.  Gently he hustles Steve towards the ground floor guest bedroom, his voice and touch impossibly soft.  Somehow Steve’s suddenly not his wearing tee-shirt or lone slipper anymore.  A sheet’s being pulled up over him, a pile of carefully placed pillows are protecting his injured leg. 

He must phase out for a while because the next thing Steve notices is that the blinds in the bedroom have been closed.  The beside clock tells him it’s midday, which explains why the room hasn’t been plunged into total darkness.  It’s bathed in a hazy, soft glow of sunlight.  Dust motes drift down in slow-motion.  His eyes slide closed, his eyelids fluttering with tiredness.  The window’s open, outside he can hear waves lapping at the shoreline, the high-pitched call of birds calling out in the yard.  Slowly his mind sinks back into sleep.

A floor board creaks under pressure in the living room.  His eyes shoot open again, his heart beating against his ribs.  Part of him knows it’s just Danny moving around the house.  But in his semi-drugged state the heavy step sounds so like his dad’s.  Eyes darting around the room, he struggles to get his bearings.  The guest room used to be his childhood bedroom.  It’s been decorated so it looks nothing like it used to when he was a kid. Suddenly though, the walls are closing in.

The teenage boy inside him panics.  The trigger is the anticipation of loneliness, not the sense of being enclosed.  Tears well up behind his eyes, blurring his vision.  Wrapping his arms across his chest, he sucks in a shaky breath, then another.  It takes all of his considerable training to stop him yelling out for Danny.

_Suck it up,_ he tells himself, like he has so many times before, in so many different countries.  _Just suck it up._

Eventually he falls asleep.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

H50H50H50H50

When he surfaces the next time, he’s not alone; he can feel the warmth of a body next to his. He also notes he hasn’t been catapulted out of sleep and into a state of instant alert.  He chews over that knowledge for a few moments, then cautiously lifts his head.

Charlie is tucked up next to him.  His Buzz Lightyear PJs stand out in bright contrast against the plain white of the sheets.  One hand is tucked under his cheek, the other is reaching up, resting on Steve’s ribcage.  It looks like porcelain, the delicate veins showing through his pale skin.

Steve blinks, then blinks again.  He silently reminds himself to breathe.  Slowly, ever so slowly, he brings up his free hand and rests it next to Charlie’s.  Splaying out his fingers he marvels at just how tiny Charlie’s hand is.  

He’s still staring at their hands when the bedroom door opens an inch, letting in a beam of light.  The beam’s broken as Danny appears in the doorway.

“How you feeling?” Danny asks, his voice low.  In the half-light the shadows under his eyes look deeper.

Steve considers the question.  “Good.”  And he really does.  Sure, his leg is still hurting.  But it’s not the first thing he’d noticed when he woke up.

Danny’s face brightens as he stands next to the bed.  As he takes in the scene in front of him it morphs into an expression of pure adoration.

Steve knows that look isn’t for him.  He quells the familiar pang in his chest.   The total, unashamed love Danny feels for his kids is something Steve has always admired about his friend.  It’s the gold standard of parenting he judges other people by – including his own dad.

“Renee brought him over.  He kept saying he wanted to give you a hug,” Danny says, unaware of his thoughts.  “I told him you needed to sleep, babe.  But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Charlie’s sleeping on, oblivious to their discussion.  Steve reaches out with his little finger to gently stroke the back of his hand.  “Single-minded,” he breathes, one corner of his lips twitching upwards.  “Wonder where he gets that from, huh?”

Danny huffs in mock-indignation.  His eyes are twinkling with amusement though as he heads round the other side of the bed.  “I’ve put sheets on Joanie’s bed,” he says reaching down to scoop Charlie into his arms.  “Let’s get you out of here, buddy.”

“No.”  The words slip from Steve’s lips unbidden.  He can feel his jaw drop in surprise.

Danny’s eyes meet his, searching.  Steve shuffles uncomfortably.  He swears Danny can see into his mind, see the memories lingering, the way the walls are still threatening to close in.

And maybe he can.  Gently, he strokes Charlie’s head, letting his thumb linger at the nape of his son’s neck.  Then, pausing just long enough to slip his shoes off, he stretches out on the bed beside them both.  Scooping the still-sleeping Charlie into the curve of his arm, he closes his eyes and sighs. 

Steve pretends not to notice how Danny’s now tucked up against him too.  “You okay?”

Danny opens his eyes, fixes his gaze on the ceiling.  “Brad struck a deal with the lawyers today,” he explains, his voice still low.  “Reduced sentence and rehab in exchange for giving evidence against the rest of the gang.”

Steve exhales his surprise.  Brad had been facing five to six years inside for armed robbery.  But turning state’s witness, that’s a dangerous move.

“The gang leaders came in from the mainland.  But they figured having someone on board who had local knowledge wouldn’t hurt.”

“Which is where Brad came in?”

“Bingo.  They used someone different for each job.  Someone too naïve and stupid to ask questions but desperate enough for money to take the fall if anything went wrong.”

“How much did they pay him?”

“Two hundred dollars.”

“ _Two hundred?”_   Steve swallows his angry indignation.  He hadn’t meant to raise his voice.  “That gang stole nearly a million dollars.”

Danny strokes Charlie’s hair, his expression distant.  “Like I said, they knew these guys were desperate.”

“So that’s why the prosecuting lawyers are being so lenient?  Because they know Brad was just the fall guy if things went wrong?”

“They also took into account the statement from the first officer on the scene.”  Danny rolls his head, stares him in the eye.  “That would be you.  The suspect’s willingness to surrender, the fact he discharged his weapon by _accident_ —”

“It was an accident, Danny.”

“He had a shotgun pointed at you, babe.  I don’t care if it was accident or not.”

“I know it looked bad—"

“ _Bad?”_

“I didn’t mean it like that—"

Danny scowls at him, lips clamped together.  It’s obvious he’s restraining himself.  Slowly he exhales.  “The prosecuting lawyers also took into account statements from other members of the gang,” he says evenly.  “Brad was supposed to keep watch outside.  It was the first time he’d used a gun.”

Steve considers what Danny’s told him.  He’s not surprised.  It doesn’t explain why he did it though, not for two hundred dollars.

“His mom passed a few years ago,” Danny continues, answering his unspoken question.  “He’s worried about his sister.  He thinks he’s let her down.  They got bills need paying.  He figured it was a way to make some cash.”

Steve nods.  He understands that.

“You wanna tell me about him, babe?”

Danny’s voice is so quiet Steve almost misses the question.  A knot of dread settles in his stomach as the request sinks in.  This is Danny though, the man who was living in a shithole of an apartment when he first met him, with nothing in his life apart from his daughter and his job.  Danny understands loneliness, the way it leaves a scar on your heart even after the loneliness itself is a distant memory.

He tells him about Brad.

Danny’s quiet for a moment when he finishes explaining.  “So, you never saw him again?”

“Not until last week.”

Danny shakes his head.

“I know,” Steve jumps in, predicting where the conversation is going next.  “I know it doesn’t make sense—”

Charlie stirs between them, mumbles something in his sleep.  In tandem they freeze.  Danny pulls him closer and Charlie settles again, his face tucked in against Danny’s chest.

“You feel you owe him,” Danny speculates quietly, his eyes still on his son.  “I get that, babe.  I do.  But what you did, almost sacrificing yourself like that?  That was wrong.”

Steve shakes his head, even though he knows Danny isn’t looking.   “It’s not that…” He trails off, looking for the right words.  He’s had plenty of time for thinking during the last week.  He knows the answer; he just doesn’t want to voice it.  “I think I feel…guilty?”

“Guilty?”  Danny’s disbelief is clear.  “For what?”

“For leaving.”

Steve watches as Danny thinks that over.  As he puts the pieces of the puzzle together, a frown appears on his face.

“So what…you think things might have played out differently for Brad, if you’d stayed?  That maybe he would have made better life choices?”

Steve shrugs.  His injured leg reminds him it’s still attached to his body.  “Maybe,” he huffs, riding out the spike of pain.  “Maybe not.  But his dad wasn’t around.  He no one to guide him.”

“Your dad wasn’t around either, babe.  Not back then.”

Steve shakes his head.  Danny’s tone is kind but the truth in his words stings.  “That’s not true.  He asked Joe to—"

Danny raises his free hand, effectively cutting Steve off.  “Point one,” he whispers sharply, pulling Charlie in even closer, “you didn’t choose to leave.  Your dad sent you away—”

“—Danny—”

“—and point two, you were just a fifteen year old kid.  You’d just lost your mom.  You weren’t responsible for Brad.  You shouldn’t have been responsible for yourself but your dad—”

“—my dad did what he had to do to keep us safe, Danny.  We’ve _talked_ about this.”

Danny clamps his mouth shut, his lips sealing tightly.  Exhaling loudly he looks away.  When he looks back, his eyes are flashing with anger.  “See, that right there?  That’s what I hate.  The McGarrett self-sacrificing gene.  I get that you inherited it from both of your parents.  I do.  But I need you to listen when I tell you that you don’t need to do that anymore.”

“I know that.  I’m…working on it.”

“Are you?”

Steve’s heart sinks at the tone in Danny’s voice. The last thing he’d ever want to do is disappoint him.  “Dad loved mom,” he says slowly, trying to put everything he’s been thinking about into some sort of order, “and he’d just lost her.  He thought he was going to lose us too.” The memory of his dad telling him he was sending him to the academy flashes into his mind.  “It killed him to send us away, Danny. That day..”  He swallows, tries again.  “He did it because he thought it was the only thing he could do to keep us safe but…”  Words fail him and he trails off again. 

Danny’s watching him, concern mixed with gentle encouragement in his eyes.  Charlie sleeps on, safe in his dad’s arms.  Steve finds the inspiration he needs.

“I couldn’t do what dad did,” he breathes, his words hitching in his throat.  “I couldn’t send…I couldn’t send my family away.”  The last few words come out in a jumble.  He’s not sure he’s made any sense.   He’s about to try again when Danny nods, his expression thoughtful.

“That’s good to know, babe.”

“Danny—”

Danny shifts, his fingers threading through Steve’s.  “I _know_ that.  But we need you here too.  You get that, right?”

Charlie sighs, wriggling further into Danny’s arms.  Steve nods, blinking against a swell of emotion.  “I get that.”  He takes a deep breath, tries again.  “I…I want to be here too.”

“Good.”

Danny’s voice is shaky, barely there.  Steve’s about to call him on it but Danny’s already moving, unthreading his fingers and turning away as he sits up, with Charlie in his arms. “It’s late,” he points out before Steve can protest.  “You need food, meds and sleep, in that order.”

Danny leaves the door open, letting in light from the rest of the house.  The room still feels very empty though.  A shiver creeps down Steve’s spine.

He considers getting up, going to the bathroom, anything to keep his mind occupied.  His crutches are within reach, propped next to the bedside cabinet.  Imagining Danny’s wrath is enough to stop him from moving.  That and the fact his body feels like it’s seized up.

Gritting his teeth, he slowly sits up.  Grabbing the spare pillows he props himself up.  Danny’s right; he is due his next dose of meds now.  Closing his eyes, he counts his way through the pain.

The floorboards upstairs are creaking.  Danny’s in the other guest room, the one Mary and Joanie use.  Mentally Steve nods his agreement to that plan; Charlie will sleep better in Joanie’s bed.  Danny can sleep in there too and keep an eye on him.

His eyes flick open as his brain finally catches on: Danny and Charlie are staying over.  He won’t be in the house on his own.

Steve’s still floating in his happy bubble of realisation when Danny reappears.  He’s changed into a tee-shirt and sweatpants.  His feet are bare.  Steve grins stupidly at him.  Danny just shakes his head at him and disappears again.

When he comes back he’s carrying a tray with plates stacked high with eggs and bacon.  Steve’s pleased to note that’s plates – plural.  He’s so pleased that he doesn’t even grumble when Danny watches him like a hawk when he takes his meds.  Danny settles in beside him and they start on the food, eating in companionable silence.

Steve feels his body unwind.  He knows it’s not just the meds kicking in.  It’s a sense of contentment, of safety, like being swathed in a soft blanket.  When Danny insists he get up and use the bathroom, he has to lean on Danny’s shoulder and let himself and the crutches be steered.  Danny manhandles him back to the bed, quietly grumbling.  Steve lets him fuss, lets him prop up his injured leg just so. 

When Danny finally says goodnight he doesn’t close the door behind him, he’s left space for a thin chink of light.  His footsteps fade down the hallway, before he heads upstairs.  There’s the sound of running water, the old pipes creaking in the building.  Then finally the noise stops and silence falls over the house.

Steve listens.  His heart rate stays calm.   In a few moments he’s asleep.

H50H50H50

He comes awake with a grunt.  Memories are swirling in his head.  This time he’d been on the beach with his mom, dad and Mary, celebrating her sixth birthday.  It’s a real memory, one he’d previously only had a vague recollection of.  Now his mind’s playing it out for him in full technicolour, reminding him of the family they used to be.

His chest feels hollow with grief. 

The sound of giggling drags him out of the memories.  It’s coming from the kitchen.  Eyes narrowed, he listens.  The night before comes back to him.

Suddenly he feels energized.  Sadly his body’s not totally on board with that idea – it takes a lot of effort to get out of bed – but he takes the meds Danny left him the night before and drags himself into the bathroom. Just standing in the shower is tempting but he knows his doctor wouldn’t agree; water and surgical dressings don’t play well together.  Balancing on one leg and leaning on the back of the shower stall, he manages to wash himself down without getting his leg wet – sort of.  Drying off is more problematic.  In the end he pat dries everything he can reach easily and leaves the rest to nature: there are advantages to the tropical climate of Hawaii.

By the time he hobbles into the kitchen he’s wearing a tee-shirt and shorts.  But he’s leaving a single wet footprint behind him.  Charlie, who’s sitting at the table, giggles at him.  Steve shakes his head, his wet hair, spraying Charlie with water.  Charlie giggles even more.

Danny pauses from cooking, his expression is stern.  His eyes are laughing though, his mouth twitching.  He points the spatula he’s holding at his son.  “Uncle Steve’s an animal, Charlie.  You got that?  He’s not funny.” 

Charlie considers that, his head tilted to one side.  “He’s funny,” he announces, backing it up with a toothy grin.

Steve lowers himself to a stool, reaches over to ruffle Charlie’s hair.  “Thanks buddy.”

“You’re impossible.  Both of you,” Danny mutters, serving out the food.  Putting it on the table, he eyes the trail of wet footprints from the door.  He fixes Steve to the spot with a hard stare.  “And you, next time, just ask for help.  You fall in the shower, I’m not gonna rescue your sorry ass.”

Steve knows that’s not true but looks repentant anyway.  He’s too busy scooping pancakes into his mouth to actually apologise. 

The huge pile of pancakes goes down fast.

Steve’s using his finger to wipe up the last few crumbs from his plate when he looks at the clock.  It’s 10am.  He frowns: Charlie’s still in his PJs.  “Shouldn’t you be at school, buddy?”

Charlie looks back at him like he’s suddenly grown two heads.  “I don’t go to school on Saturday.”

“You forgot what day it is?”  Danny’s got that worried look on his face again.

“I guess so.”  Steve fixes what he hopes is a reassuring smile on his face.  The days have blurred together, in the hospital it doesn’t really matter which day it actually is.

“We’re making cupcakes,” Charlie informs him.

“We are?” 

Danny hesitates.  Charlie’s face falls.  “I’m sorry buddy but I’ve gotta work first—”

“I’ll help him.”  Steve’s offering before thinking: he’s never baked a cup cake in his life.  But Charlie’s face lights up. 

Danny eyes the crutches leaning against the table.  “You sure?”

Steve grins and nods enthusiastically.  Danny’s working on a Saturday because the team are a man down.  Keeping Charlie occupied is the least he can do.

“Okay.”  Danny’s looking at him sideways, like he’s not sure what he’s let himself in for. 

Charlie’s already gone, running out of the kitchen to get changed.  As Danny follows him, yelling at his son to slow down, Steve retrieves his crutches and hobbles back to the bedroom.  His phone’s on the bedside table.  Skimming through the screens he brings up a recipe for cupcakes.  Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he scans the instructions.

Nodding to himself, he memorises the ingredients and measurements.  It all seems pretty easy. 

This is going to be fun.

H50H50H50H50

It turns out baking cupcakes isn’t as easy as it seems.  The first batch aren’t ‘ _golden and slightly risen’_ as promised in the recipe.  A more accurate description, Steve thinks, would be _‘sunken and black around the edge’_.  Charlie curls up his nose when he sniffs them.  His disgusted ‘ewww’ face says it all.

Steve bangs the baking tray against the table a couple of time to release the burnt lumps of sponge.  “Don’t worry, buddy.  We’ll make more.” 

All the ingredients are laid out on the table, within easy reach when he’s sitting down.  Steve ignores the flour and sugar that’s spread everywhere – Charlie had helped mix the first batch - and focuses on the mission.  He’s determined to cook a batch of cakes that Charlie will be proud of. 

Charlie tires of helping pretty quickly.  He has to be distracted with icing sugar and decorations.  Steve retrieves some of the burnt cakes for him to practice on.  Bright red icing soon joins the flour on the floor.

Two hours later, Steve’s exhausted but satisfied.  It’s taken three attempts but finally they have a batch of perfectly baked cupcakes.  And Charlie’s in his element, singing happily to himself as he decorates them with sparkly things.

The kitchen door opens and Danny comes in.  Head down, his attention is on the paperwork in his hand.  Looking up, he opens his mouth to say something – then lets out a laugh, a spontaneous deep, belly laugh.

Perplexed, Steve looks around, his eyes widening as he finally noticing the apocalyptic baking chaos he’s helped to create.  Charlie grins back: he’s floury white all over, his hair’s stuck together with pink icing.  Looking down, Steve discovers he hasn’t escaped the chaos.  The damp patches on his skin and clothing are caked with flour, it’s stuck to him like glue. 

It’s gonna be a bitch to get off, he thinks, especially while he’s winged and on crutches.  Despondently, he picks at a lump of the white gunk with his thumbnail, wincing at it catches on his body hair.  But as Danny doubles over and laughs even harder, he realises he doesn’t give a damn.

H50H50H50H50

The rest of the morning is spent cleaning up.  The afternoon is spent eating the cakes and watching an endless number of Disney movies.  Steve dozes on the couch despite the sugar buzzing through his veins.  Every now and then Charlie asks for help changing the DVD. 

Eventually Danny emerges from the office, looking tired again.  Steve shuffles along the couch and stares pointedly at the space he’s vacated.  Danny hesitates for a second then folds, falling into the cushions in a sprawl.  A while later, Charlie crawls in between them, his eyes drooping as all the sugar he’s eaten finally leaves his system.  They stay that way for the rest of the day, three couch potatoes barely registering what’s on the TV.

It’s been a good day, Steve thinks later, as Danny helps him get ready for bed.  Closing his eyes he recalls Charlie’s grin that morning, the way he’d been covered in flour from head to toe.  As he drifts to sleep he’s still smiling to himself.

When he wakes up the next day, he’s antsy and on edge. 

He stays in bed for longer, hoping he can shake it off.  When that doesn’t work he hauls himself into the shower, turns the water to cold and sticks his head under it.  As a distraction is works for a little while; being cold makes his leg ache more.  Pulling on his clothes, he checks himself out in the mirror: he looks like he hasn’t slept at all.

Danny and Charlie have already finished breakfast.  They’re out in the yard, by the shore.  Steve awkwardly manoeuvres his way over the uneven ground on his crutches.  It does nothing to improve his mood. 

Charlie greets him with a happy smile and a spade; he wants help building a sandcastle.  Danny tracks his progress, his eyes narrowing in a worried frown.  Steve lowers himself into a chair and takes the spade.  He ignores Danny.  He feels like a bastard but there’s no way he’s going to tell Danny what’s got him on edge. 

He feels even more of a bastard when half an hour later Danny appears with a bowl of porridge and his favourite Kona coffee.  Meekly, he accepts them.

“It was just a bad dream, okay?” he confesses around the second spoonful.  It’s impossible not to.  Danny’s worried expression is like a stake in his heart.

Danny nods, then pulls up a seat beside him.  “Another one, huh?”

Steve pauses mid-chew.  He’s not sure why he’s surprised Danny’s figured it out.  They’ve both had their fair share of nightmares.

Danny leans closer, until their elbows are nearly bumping.  “Want to tell me about it?”

Steve puts another spoonful of porridge in his mouth and chews slowly.  Does he want Danny to know that his screwed up brain is imposing his fucked up life on Danny’s?  That in his latest dream Brad killed Danny?  That Grace and Charlie have lost their dad.  Does he want Danny to know that, adding to all the worries he knows his friend already struggles with?

He swallows the porridge, then goes back for another spoonful.  “No, Danny.  I don’t.”

H50H50H50

Junior brings Eddie back a few days later.  The team’s picked up a new case, he’s worried he won’t have time to take Eddie out.  Steve tries not to feel resentment as Junior strides in, full of energy.  When he sweeps out again it’s like he’s taken all the life in the house with him.

H50H50H50

“That’s looking much better.”

Steve stares at the ceiling as the doctor examines his leg.  The doctor’s touch is firm but gentle but he still has to resist the urge to flinch.  His feet twitch restlessly against the examination couch.

“Okay, you can sit up.”

Steve watches as the doctor turns his attention to computer and taps something in on the keyboard.  There’s been a lot of note taking at these twice weekly appointments.  He wonders what the hell could have changed in just a few days.

The waiting becomes too much.  “So I wondering about doing some physical activity,” he asks, pushing himself upright.  “Just some upper body strength training, maybe a little light cardio—”

The doctor keeps on tapping.  “You will need to talk to your physical therapist.  She’ll be able to advise on that.”  He looks up, finally meets Steve’s gaze.  “Ah.  I’m guessing by your expression that you’ve already spoken to her.”

Steve tries his most winning smile.  “I know my own body, doc.  I won’t do anything stupid.”

The doctor considers the question, then he turns his attention to the computer again.  His eyes widen.  “Parkour?” he asks, his voice rising.  “Just a few hours after been released from hospital following a liver transplant?”

Steve crosses his arms.  He raises his chin.  “I didn’t plan that okay?”

The doctor sighs, pulls a stool over next to the couch.  “I’m sure you didn’t,” he says, dropping onto it. 

_But I’m still benched,_ Steve thinks, reading between the lines.  He shuffles on the couch, unable to stay still for any longer.  “I need this, okay?” he says earnestly, hoping the doctor can tell by his voice how serious he is.  “I’m not used to being cooped up indoors like this every day.  I can’t stay in that house—”

“And I understand that,” the doctor replies.  His expression softens, compassion clear in his eyes.  His gaze travels down Steve’s body, settling on his injured leg.  “You could have lost your leg, Commander.  You’re lucky events played out how they did.  The first responders knew what they were doing.  We had an excellent surgeon on call that day.  It’s only been three weeks.  Injuries like this take time to get over.”

“I’ve been injured before, I know—”

The doctor’s expression morphs to stern.  “No cheating, Commander.  No short-cuts.”

Steve looks away, clamping his jaw shut.  It’s taking all his energy just to sit still.  The doctor waits a moment then with a tired sigh leaves the room. 

Steve crosses his arms tighter.  Looking down at his leg, part of him recoils.   He’s not a stranger to shotgun injuries but it’s the first time he’s been on the receiving end.  The doctor was right, he was lucky.  Lucky that the gun wasn’t aimed at his centre-mass when it went off, that only his leg was caught in the blast.

It’s another fifteen minutes before he makes it back outside to the waiting room.  A nurse has dressed his leg for him again.  As he hobbles out she gives him yet another set of wound care instructions.  He stuffs them in his pocket: he’s got the ones from his previous appointment stuffed in there too.

Danny’s sitting in his normal chair in reception, waiting for him.  He smiles like he always does when he sees Steve.  He puts down the ancient edition of Woman’s World he’s read three times before and helps Steve to the car.

“How’d it go?” he asks, as he does after every appointment.

“Great,” Steve replies, smiling back like he always does.  “The doc thinks I’ll be back on desk-duty in a couple of weeks.”

H50H50H50

Steve’s sitting at the kitchen table when Danny gets home that night.  He’s still been staying overnight.  He’s convinced Steve won’t take his meds or eat properly if he doesn’t.  Steve’s happy to play along.  Danny’s cooking is awesome: it’s like eating out every night.   

Danny’s carrying two bags of groceries.  Glancing over at Steve, he dumps them on the table and opens the fridge, ready to unload.  He freezes, looks back over his shoulder.  His eyebrows scrunch in confusion.   “What you doing, babe?”

Steve looks up.  On the table in front of him he’s got scissors and an old pair of combat gloves.  He’s cut off all the fingers.  “I called my physical therapist,” he explains, pulling on one of the gloves and wiggling his fingers.  “She said I can go walking.  You know, for exercise.”

Danny closes the fridge door.  He eyes the pile of chopped off glove fingers.  “I think she just meant walking to the store.  She wasn’t giving you permission to scale Diamond Head.”

Steve grabs one of his crutches, balanced against the table next to him.  He grips it with his gloved hand, testing the fit.  “I know what she meant, Danny,” he says, putting the crutch down and repeating the exercise with his other hand.  Happy with the results, he looks up at Danny.  “What’s for dinner?  I’m starving.”

H50H50H50H50

Walking becomes the focus of his days.

His hobbling lurch doesn’t seem to phase Eddie.  He happily trots alongside as they head down the street.  And he’s a great ice-breaker with the neighbours.  Steve knows them on sight: he’d checked them out when he’d been investigating his father’s murder.  But he’s not friendly with any of them.  At least he’s not until they meet Eddie.

Eddie takes a shine to one particular neighbour, Mrs Cheung.  In her early eighties, she’s grey haired and tiny, she barely comes up to Steve’s elbow.  Every afternoon as they trot and hobble past her house she’s sitting on her lanai.  By the third day she’s got treats ready for Eddie.  By the second week Steve finds himself being invited in for afternoon tea.  His first reaction is to decline, he’s not in a talkative mood.  She always looks lonely though.  And she bakes delicious cakes. 

It’s late afternoon before they leave.  Mrs Cheung’s sent Eddie off with a specially baked doggie treat.  Tail wagging happily, he’s holding it delicately between his jaws.  Steve’s smiling as he brings up the rear, an envelope of copied photos tucked under his arm. 

Mrs Cheung’s an amateur photographer.  Her house had been full of photographs, including pictures of the local neighbourhood.  In her hallway she’d had a photo of a yard party taken in the 1970’s.  His parents were in the back row, recently married and beaming with happiness. 

She’d been eager to share the stories behind all her pictures.  Steve had taken everything she said with a pinch of scepticism: nothing could be as perfect as she described it.  Nostalgia tends to add a rosy tint to everything.  But he’d still consumed her memories greedily. 

They’re so much better than his own.

H50H50H50H50

It's still a blessing when the weekend arrives again and with it Danny and Charlie.  Eddie turns into a woofing, bundle of furry excitement.  Steve’s not far behind.  Not being able to join the others in the water is still disappointing but Charlie’s insistence on building more sandcastles with him isn’t a bad consolation prize.

Danny vetoes more Disney movies.  Steve’s quietly grateful: he’s already seen Moana three times.  They bake more cakes (without destroying the kitchen) and visit Kamekona’s shave ice stall.  It’s fun, there’s a lot of laughter.  Danny slowly starts to unwind, his grin appearing at the slightest thing. 

Steve tells himself to just enjoy it but he can’t stop himself counting the hours ticking away.  On Sunday afternoon he disappears into the garage.  When he comes back out he’s got everything he needs to make a toy rocket.

Charlie watches spellbound as Steve shows him how to build it.  They wait until nightfall to launch it.  Charlie whoops with joy as it shoots into the sky (only a few feet but he doesn’t seem to notice).  Danny watches in silence as Steve lights it, his hands stuffed in his pockets.  His only reaction is to raise an eyebrow when Steve whoops along with his son.

Steve doesn’t care.  Ever since the shooting he’s had an overwhelming urge to destroy something.  It might only be a homemade rocket but it’s helped scratch the itch.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

H50H50H50

Steve limps out of the physical therapist’s office.  Danny’s sitting in the waiting area outside.  He’s reading Teen Vogue.

“Hey, no crutches,” Danny says, his face lighting up.  His smile slips as Steve carries on past him.  “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Steve looks down at the cane he’s just been downgraded to.  He’d been bugging the therapist to ditch the crutches.  He’d imagined victory would feel better than this.  Sighing, he stops long enough to let Danny to catch up.  “I’ve gotta wait another week before I can go back to work.”

“Damn.”  Danny speeds up to get in front of him, pushes open the door to the parking lot.  “I’m sorry.  I know you really wanted that.  But it’s only been seven weeks.  The chances of her clearing you for desk duty weren’t good—”

“I know that.”

“It’s just one more week, babe.”

“Seven days, Danny.”

“Okay.  Seven days—”

“—of doing nothing.  Of being stuck in that house, climbing the walls.  She still won’t let me swim or go to the gym and—”

“I understand why you’re upset.”

“No you don’t.  You’re not the one who—”

“—who got shot?  No, no I’m not.”

“What’s that tone?”

“I don’t have a tone.”

“Yeah you do, Danny.  This is the point in the argument where you tell me I should have just taken the shot.”

“Don’t put words into my mouth.”

“Admit it.  You were gonna tell me—"

“Okay. Okay.”  Danny’s raised his hands like he’s talking to a spooked horse.  “I get that you’re pissed.  Can we please get in the car and talk about this?”

Steve blinks at Danny’s tone: he’s not making a request, he’s issuing an order.   Inhaling sharply, he looks around. They’re standing next to the Camaro.  Passers-by are staring at him.  As he catches their eyes they look away, embarrassed.

Steve can feel his cheeks colouring as understanding dawns.  “I was shouting.”

Danny bobs his head, not meeting his gaze.  “A little bit.  Yeah.”

_“Shit.”_ He closes his eyes against the wave of humiliation that engulfs him.  When he opens them again, Danny’s sitting in the Camaro.  Silently, he gets in beside him.

He knows he should apologise but it feels like a hollow gesture.  The anger and frustration he felt in the days immediately after the shooting have been steadily growing ever since.  He feels like that rocket he built for Charlie: all it takes is one spark and he explodes.  The last ten days have been one continuous apology, usually to Danny.  And Danny just keeps on taking it.

That makes him angry too.

Steve crosses his arms and hunkers down in his seat as Danny starts the car.  As they pull out onto the highway he closes his eyes, willing the adrenaline in his system to dissipate.  Gradually his heart beat slows, his breathing evening out.  His brain won’t play ball though.  It insists on coming back to one thing:

He’s still benched for another whole week.  Seven more days alone in that house.  Another week stuck in the maze that’s his head.  He’s not sure he can do it.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

Danny’s voice jerks Steve out of his thoughts.  Eyes darting around, he tries to get his bearings.  They’ve come to a halt outside of a large concrete building.  There’s barbed wire running along the top of the wire fence surrounding it.  It’s looks vaguely familiar.

Danny’s leaning forward in his seat.  He’s staring through the windscreen, both hands gripping the top of the steering wheel.

Dread slithers down Steve’s spine.  He shifts sideways in his seat, to get a better view of Danny.  “What’s not a good idea?”

Danny taps the steering wheel with his forefinger.  It’s a fast tap, urgent.

“Danny?  You okay?”

There’s a pause then Danny sits back, meets Steve’s gaze.  His eyes are full of sympathy, his features soft with concern.  He takes a deep breath.  “I need you to talk to someone.”

The hairs on Steve’s neck prickle.  He can feel his anger level creeping back up.  “We talked about this.  I’ll have to undergo the HPD psyche evaluation before I’m cleared for active—"

Danny raises his hand.  If it’s supposed to be a soothing gesture it’s not working.  “It’s not a psychiatrist, okay?”

Steve forces his jaw to relax: he can feel his teeth grinding.  “Who is it then?”

Danny looks away and back again.  His finger taps faster.  “Do you trust me?”

“What kind of question—”

Danny shakes his head.  A flash of frustration crosses his face.  “Just answer it.”

Steve clamps his lips shut against the anger that’s threatening to escape.  Beneath it he can feel the first stirrings of shame.  Danny shouldn’t damn well have to ask him.  But looking back over the last few weeks…he’s pushed Danny to his limits.  The realisation makes him feel sick.

Steve looks Danny in the eyes.  He hopes he hasn’t left it too late.  “I trust you.”

Danny nods then looks away. But not before Steve sees the look of relief that crosses his face.

“The prosecuting lawyer was very clear about the terms of Brad’s sentence,” Danny explains, oblivious to the way Steve’s heart is painfully skipping every other beat.  “Brad has to attend therapy sessions, with a psychiatrist.  The psychiatrist believes some of his issues stem from his childhood.  Brad’s sister thought it would help him to talk to you.  The lawyers okay’d it.”

“No.”  Steve’s got his hand on the door handle before he realises he’s moved.  He knows where they are: it’s the Oahu Community Correctional Centre, where they keep pre-trial inmates.  Inmates like Brad.  “You’re right.  It’s a bad idea.”

Fuming, Steve stares out across the parking lot.  As he watches the red warning light on top of the entrance gate to the facility starts flashing.  Slowly, the huge steel gate slides open.  There’s a young woman waiting on the other side.  Steve doesn’t have to ask Danny if that’s Brad’s sister; she looks a lot like her brother. Beside him, Danny stops tapping on the steering wheel.  Steve feels the sky closing in.

“What do you want to do, babe?”

Steve jerks at the sound of Danny’s voice.  Memories had been stirring.  “Drive.”

There’s a pause.  “Are you sure?”

Anger flares.  Steve grits his teeth.  “He could have killed you, Danny.”

“ _Me?_   What about you?”

The rage in Danny’s voice gets Steve’s attention.  It cuts through his own anger like a knife through butter.  Digging his fingernails into his palms restores his ability to concentrate.  He studies Brad’s sister, the way she’s got her shoulders are slouched, her arms crossed protectively across her breasts.

He looks longways at Danny.  “What happens if I don’t go in there?”

Danny taps, just once.  “Then I’ll go on my own.”

_That’s what I figured,_ Steve thinks, working through his options.  Danny wouldn’t have arranged for Brad’s sister to come out and meet them if there was a chance they’d just drive away.  Danny wouldn’t be able to do it.  If he, Steve, is a tough baked cookie with a marshmallow centre it’s only because Danny showed him the way.  Danny doesn’t have a mean bone in his body – unless someone threatens his family.

“Just say the word.  You don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want to.”

Steve thinks that over, takes a moment to read between the lines.  “You think I should do this?”

Danny nods, twists in his seat to look at him.  “Yeah.  I do.”

_Fuck._ Steve grabs his cane, gets a good grip on it.  Then he opens the door and swings out his legs.  Using the door for extra balance he pulls himself to his feet.  He’s vaguely aware of Danny getting out and locking the car behind him but all of his focus is on getting across the parking lot.  If he stops he’s not sure he’ll start moving again.  Even worse, he doesn’t trust himself to not lose his temper.  He feels like a powder keg that’s about to explode.

Brad’s sister spots them: she straightens, a nervous smile appearing on her face.   It dies as she looks at Steve’s face.  She still sticks out her hand in welcome.  Steve takes it, briefly.  Something about her demeanour stops him from being rude and ignoring her.  She looks as if she’s about to say something, then changes her mind.

“Thank you for doing this,” she says to Danny as he joins them.  “It’ll help Brad so much—”

“I didn’t do it for Brad,” Danny cuts in before she can finish.  Reaching out, he rests his hand at the base of Steve’s spine.  Pressing gently, he takes a step forward.  “Let’s do this, babe.”

Steve goes where Danny takes him.  They’re met by staff at the entrance, there’s paperwork to be completed and IDs to be checked.  Eventually they’re cleared and they’re led through the building.  Danny steadies him, keeps one hand resting on his back. 

They don’t go to the main block when the inmates are kept.  Gradually it sinks into Steve’s brain that they’re going to the infirmary.  Brad’s still recovering from his gunshot wound, he remembers, the wound Danny inflicted when he’d shot him.  The knowledge flicks a switch in his brain.  Images from the bank parking lot appear in his mind’s eye. 

“Steve?  You okay?”

Steve blinks, scans the area, realises they’ve stopped moving.  It’s takes him a second to catch on that it’s actually him who’s stopped.  The others are waiting, varying degrees of concern on their faces.

Danny’s hand is pressing against his back still but now it’s more solid.  It feels like it’s holding him up.  “Steve?” 

His throat feels very dry.  “You shot him, Danny.”

Danny moves closer.  “I know.”

“No…I mean…you were…maybe you…” _You were terrified,_ his brain fills in silently.  _Maybe you shouldn’t be here either._

“I _know_.”  Danny quirks his lips up, meets his eyes.  It’s not a smile, more a weak attempt at reassurance.  He pats Steve’s back.  “You still want to do this?”

Steve dips his chin, grabs his cane tighter.  Danny wants him to keep going.  Now he’s looking in his eyes, he can see it; the glint of hope.  Putting his weight on his good leg, he straightens.  “Yeah.  I’m good.”

The prison guard doesn’t look convinced.  Neither does Brad’s sister.  Steve ignores both of them.  He concentrates on Danny instead, listening to the tap of his heels on the concrete floor as he walks, the way he’s walking in time to the tap of Steve’s cane.  His heart speeds up at the familiar rhythm, as they march like two soldiers going into battle.

His heart rate goes through the roof when they enter the visitors room Brad’s waiting in.  Maybe Danny’s realises, or perhaps his own heart is doing the same.  Either way, he crowds in closer, his hand slipping further round Steve’s back until it’s almost encircling his waist.

The room has a table and two chairs in it.  Brad is sitting in one of the chairs.  His arm is strapped across his body in a sling.  Even though he’s cleaned up, it’s clear the last twenty plus years haven’t been kind to him.  He’s skinnier than Steve remembers, the prison overalls he’s wearing look huge on him.  His hair’s longer, more unkempt, his cheeks are sunken, his cheekbones sharp in his face.  His expression has a more watchful edge to it than Steve remembers.

Brad studies him, his eyes travelling over him from head to toe.  Then his attention shifts to Danny.  “You’re the bastard who shot me.”  Brad sounds angry about that.  His nostrils flare.

Suddenly Steve can hear his heartbeat thundering in his head.  He takes a step forward.  The arm around his waist tightens, tugs until he steps back again.

“That would be me,” Danny says matter-of-factly, as if he’s not trying to wrestle 170 pounds of ex-SEAL at the same time.  “You shot my partner.  You’re lucky you’re still alive.”  He pauses then smiles: it’s razor sharp, all teeth.

Brad’s sister gasps into the charged silence that follows.  Brad goes still, his eyes travelling between Danny and Steve again, weighing them both up.  The guard, who’s placed himself in one corner, stands to attention, both hands resting on his utility belt.

Brad’s sister recovers herself.  Throwing a panicked glance at the guard, she turns back to glare at her brother.  “Apologise,” she demands.  “Tell ‘em you’re sorry.”

Brad’s posture turns mulish.  He picks at the cuffs of his overalls.  “He shot me.  I don’t see why—”

“Brad!”

Brad’s sister’s voice is thick with desperation.   It quells some of the anger Steve’s feeling.  He can remember talking to Mary and sounding just like that.   He knows how much it hurts to see someone you love destroying themselves.

The arm around his waist tightens its grip.  Danny’s looking up at him, one eyebrow raised.  Steve meets his gaze: he knows they could leave right now if they wanted to.  And he wants to; he wants Danny out of there.  But he’s not going to give in now.   Assuming of course Brad wants him to stay.

Shuffling forward a step releases him from the safety of Danny’s arm.  Reaching out, he leans on the back of the empty chair.  He waits for Brad to peer up at him from under his fringe then pins him to the spot with a Navy-trained stare.

“My leg hurts like fuck,” he growls, leaning down low to force eye contact.   “I’ve been making my partner’s life hell.  Yes I have,” he insists as Danny shifts behind him, “and nothing would make me happier than to blame you, Brad, for both those things.  But my partner here, he thinks I’ve got deeper rooted problems that need fixing.  And as much as I hate to admit it, I think he’s right.”

Behind him, Danny sucks in a deep breath.  Steve doesn’t look round, he knows he’ll be undone if he does.  Gripping the chair tighter, he keeps all his attention on Brad. 

Brad pushes his hair out of his eyes.   He stares over Steve’s shoulder.  “I don’t need your help.”

“Maybe not.” Steve shrugs.  He’s rapidly running short on patience.  “But your sister thinks I can help.  We were friends—”

“Were we?”

“Sorry?”

“You didn’t say where you were going.”

“When?”

Brad’s eyes travel back to Steve.  “When you left.”

“When I left…”  Steve shakes his head as a light comes on in his head.  “I left you a message.  I wrote a note.  Didn’t you get it?”

“You left him a note?”

It’s Danny who’s asked but Brad’s sister and the guard have the same questions on their faces.  Steve looks back over his shoulder.  “He’s talking about the message I left when I went to the Academy.”

Danny scowls at Brad.  He’s heard this part of the story.  “He told you where he was going.”

Brad rolls his eyes.  “He didn’t leave a telephone number or mailing address.  Figured he didn’t want to talk to me no more.”

“He didn’t?”  Danny blinks, drops his chin to his chest, stares at his shoes.  When he looks up a moment later, there’s humour in his eyes.  “Why am I not surprised?”

“Can’t imagine,” Steve drawls, a smile creeping up on him.  Even in this tense emotion-fueled situation, Danny’s managed to cheer him up.  Standing up, he puts his weight back on the cane.  “So, how about it, Brad?  We talking or not?”

Brad’s studying him again. “Sure, why not,” he shrugs, slouching back in his chair.

Danny looks like he’s about to blow a gasket at Brad’s dismissive tone.  Steve lays a hand on his shoulder to calm him.  He squeezes once before letting go.  “We’ll be fine,” he tells Danny, as he pulls out the empty chair.  “Go get some air.  I’ll come find you once we’re done.”

Danny looks like he’s going to argue.  So does Brad’s sister.  Steve holds his ground and reluctantly they both leave.  The guard doesn’t move from his corner.  Steve nods at him before he takes his seat.

The door closes with a click.  It’s like someone’s signaled to Brad that the live performance is over.  His false bravado vanishes in a flash. Huddling down in his chair, he chews on his thumbnail.

Steve watches him, his hand sliding up and down his cane.  The anger is still simmering under his skin, there’s still part of him that wants to punch Brad’s lights out.  But there’s part of him – the scared teenager who’s just lost his mom – that needs to reach out.  “So,” he says, wincing as he stretches his leg out, “want to tell me what that was all about?”

Brad stares at the doorway, where his sister has just gone.  “Eighteen months inside,” he mumbles into his sleeve, as he uses it to wipe his face.  “She don’t think I can do it.”

Steve leans his elbows on the table.  “Can you?”

Brad meets his eyes.  The fear in them speaks volumes.  “She’s worried about me,” he continues, turning his attention back to the closed door.  “I don’t want her to do that.  You know what I mean?”

Steve follows where he’s looking.  “Yeah,” he breathes.  “I know what you mean.”

Brad sniffs, pulls himself up in his seat.  “So what we s’posed to talk about?”

Steve rubs at his nose as he thinks that over.  Danny hadn’t really suggested anything.  Neither had Brad’s sister.  “How about I start where we left off?” he suggests, shifting again to get comfortable.  “I tell you about the Academy.  You tell me about high school…”

H50H50H50H50

Steve rests his head in his hands.  Using the heels of his palms he rubs the tiredness out of his eyes.

The meeting with Brad had lasted an hour.  It feels like it was twice as long.  Just being in the same room as Brad had drained him of energy: seeing him had bought back so many memories.  Talking to him had been even harder.  He’s never really explained to anyone what it had been like during his first few months at the Academy.  Learning to deal with the strict regime had been difficult enough, but battling the loneliness and homesickness had been harder. 

He’s been sitting in the reception area trying to get his thoughts together.  Twenty minutes later, and he’s still no closer to understanding how he feels.

Turning his head he can see outside, through the wire fence and across to the parking lot.  The black Camaro is the only car parked in the visitors’ area.  Danny’s sitting in the driver’s seat, windows down, his bent arm resting on the door.  His lips are pursed together in thought, his forehead wrinkled.  He looks tired.

_Danny always looks tired_.

The thought’s not a new one.  But for the first time he knows what to do about it.  Puffing out his cheeks Steve retrieves his phone from his pocket and starts dialing.  He’s got a few calls to make.

He’s leaning heavily on his cane when he finally leaves.  As he crosses the parking lot he can feel Danny watching him.  He doesn’t have to look at his friend to know his frown will have grown.  That makes him even more certain that he’s doing the right thing.  He’s put Danny through hell.

Danny’s still watching him as he gets in the car. “How’d it go?”

“Okay.” Steve meets Danny’s eyes and mentally grimaces.  Danny’s right, his answer lacked conviction. “I don’t know,” he muses, scratching his whiskered cheek.  “He thinks this deal with the lawyers is going to make all his problems go away.  He’s got this idea that when he’s let out everything will be forgotten and he’ll start over.”

Danny shakes his head.  They both know it doesn’t work like that.  Brad’s got a police record now.  Helping the cops won’t make him popular with the criminal element on the island either.

“So, was Brad like you remembered?”

Steve considers the question.  Behind all the bluff Brad’s still that scared and lonely kid he knew in high school.  “Yeah.”  In some ways neither of them have changed that much.

“You gonna come over here again?”

“Probably.”  Danny raises one eyebrow. Steve smiles: he knows him too well.  Helping people is built into his DNA.  But first he’s got to help himself. 

Steve takes a deep breath.  “I made some calls.”  He’s done what he should have done weeks ago.  “I called Mary.  Asked if I could fly out to California for a visit.”

Danny looks surprised.  “You sure about this?  She’s gonna kick your ass, babe.”  He says it like it’s not a bad thing.

Steve snorts.  Danny’s not wrong.  “She was there,” he explains, sobering as the memories come flooding back.  “She knows what it was like.  Mom dying, Dad shutting us out.  There’re things up here,” he taps his forehead, “things I think she’ll understand.” 

Danny nods.  When he first met Mary she was still acting out, looking for an outlet for her own anger and frustration caused by their childhood. 

Steve takes another deep breath.  “And I’ve reached out to a guy I know at Coronado.”

“A guy?”

Steve taps his forehead again.  “Navy.  Psychiatrist.”

Danny scrubs his hand over his face.  “He’s good?”

 Steve shrugs. That’s not why he called him.  “He…knows me.”

“So he’s up for the challenge.”  Danny shifts in his seat, rubs at his face again.  “That’s a lot to pack into one week.”

Steve pauses, waits until Danny’s looking at him.  “That’s the last call I made.  To my physical therapist.  I asked her to change the recommendation for my return to desk duty to two weeks.”  He looks away, biting the inside of the lip.  Admitting to himself he wasn’t fit for duty had been the bitterest pill to swallow.

Danny sighs.  Air whistles through his teeth, like he’s been holding his breath for the longest time. 

Steve’s stomach plummets as something else becomes clear to him.  “You knew I wasn’t gonna be fit enough for desk duty next week, didn’t you?”

Danny tugs at his earlobe, his gazed fixed somewhere beyond the windshield.  “You needed something to focus on.  I figured we’d worry about it in a week’s time.”

_We_.  Always we.  “You gonna be alright on your own?”

Danny doesn’t move.  “It’s just two weeks, right?”

Steve nudges him with his elbow.  He has to nudge him twice more before he looks round.  “Mary’s gonna be on the phone to you every five minutes, telling you how I’ve pissed her off.”

“True.” Danny exhales.  It’s clear he’s making himself relax.   Gradually a smile appears. “I’ll enjoy that.”

Steve’s heart eases slightly.  It doesn’t feel right.  “I shouldn’t have put all this on you.”

Danny finally meets his gaze.  “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Right.” 

They stare at each other, words hanging unspoken between them.  Steve feels a shiver of apprehension work down his spine.  There’s always been something between the two of them, something they’ve never acted on.  He’s thought about it – god, he’s thought about it – but the last thing he wants to do is hurt Danny.  And Danny’s been hurt enough.

He licks his lips, swallows hard, tells himself to back off now.  He’s not in a good place mentally, it really wouldn’t be fair.  But then he looks into Danny’s eyes and sees desolation.  It feels like a hand’s wrapped around his heart and squeezed it, hard. 

He wants to ease that pain, to see Danny smile again.  He’s leaning in, his eyes drifting closed, before he even realises.  The angle’s awkward, his bum leg’s jammed against the gear shift.  Tilting his head though gives him the angle of entry he needs.

It’s not a passionate kiss.  It doesn’t even last that long.  It just feels right, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do.  Vaguely he wonders why he waited so long.

When he pulls away, Danny’s got his eyes closed.  Panic sets in as it sinks in what he’s just done. Reassurance doesn’t come when Danny opens his eyes either; his expression is wary, full of doubt.

“Look, I’m sorry—”

Danny stops him by placing a finger on his lips.  Removing it, he studies Steve closely.  “Wanna tell me why you did that?”

Steve forces himself not to flinch under Danny’s gaze.  He feels sick with disappointment.  “I shouldn’t have kissed you.  I’m sorry, Danny.  Let’s just forget about it—”

“Uh, uh, uh.”  The finger’s back, waving under his nose.  “The kiss was good, babe.  I just want to know why you did that _now_.”

_Oh.  Oh._ Steve blinks as his brain frantically backpedals.  Danny’s still watching, the emotions in his eyes as intense as Steve can ever remember.  His mind goes blank.  His mouth opens.  He says the thought that is uppermost in his mind.  “I love you.”

Danny tilts his head, still watching him.  His eyes darken, his pupils dilating.  “You sure about that?”

Steve nods, mutely.  He understands what he’s just agreed to, that for Danny this is all or nothing.  He’s good with that.

Danny doesn’t say anything.  Instead, he wraps his hand around the back of Steve’s neck and hauls him in for another kiss.  Their teeth click as they make contact, both men groaning as they roll into the kiss.

This time when they part, Steve is breathing hard.  He knows he’s not the only one feeling the sparks flying: Danny’s looking flushed too.

Danny keeps a tight grip on his neck.  Their foreheads are just inches apart.  “When’s your flight?”

Steve curses.  He hasn’t thought this through.  “Tonight,” he confesses, a hint of desperation creeping in.  “Sorry.”

“Your timing sucks,” Danny complains but any sting is taken out of his words as he dips in for another kiss.

 “Things will be better when I get back,” Steve breathes when they pull apart again.  “I promise.”

Danny falls back onto his own seat.  “I’m gonna hold you to that, babe.”   He moves his hand from Steve’s neck and rests it on Steve’s thigh instead.  “This is going to be the longest two weeks ever,” he mutters as he starts up the car and reverses out of the parking space.  “You really know how to torture a guy.”

_Touche,_ Steve thinks as Danny turns the car towards home, his hand still resting on his leg.  It feels like it’s burning a brand through his pants.  He swallows hard, sternly tells himself to focus.  “I’ve got one more favour to ask.”

Danny waves the hand that’s supposed to be on the steering wheel. “Whatever you need, babe.”

Steve hesitates.  An hour ago it had seemed like a straightforward request.  Now it’s taken on a whole new meaning.  His stomach roils from nervousness.  His heart skips a beat from excitement.  “I was going to ask Junior to look after Eddie.  But I wondered if you wanted to stay in the house while I was gone?”

Danny takes his eyes off the road to stare at him.  “Sure,” he stutters, glancing at the road and back to Steve.  “Why not?  I got Charlie again next week.  He’d love it.  But you know what’s gonna happen,” he continues, taking a corner so fast Steve grabs the edge of his seat for balance,  “I’ve got a beach, suddenly Grace and Will want to come over.  Next thing you know, Lou’ll insist on using your giant grill.”  He pauses long enough to change down gear then starts counting off names on his fingers; “That’ll means Renee will come over, then there’s Junior and Tani and I guarantee Nahele will sniff out the food.  That’s even before you count in Kamekona and…”

Steve closes his eyes and lets Danny’s words wash over him.  His leg’s started aching now he’s stopped long enough to notice.  It doesn’t really matter.  Danny might be building up to a rant of epic proportions but Steve can see right through him: he’s already working out what he’s going to cook all these people.  And Danny’s at his happiest when he’s cooking for a crowd. 

Steve makes a mental note to tell Danny about Mrs Cheung before he leaves.   He’s pretty sure she’s still got a few parties in her.  She’d love the company too.

A pang of sadness sweeps over him: he’s going to miss all the fun.  It’s only for two weeks, he reminds himself.  What he’s doing, the wheels he’s setting in motion, it’s all been long overdue.   Looking over at Danny, he imagines what he’ll be doing in three week’s time when he gets back to Hawaii.  His imagination throws up some vivid suggestions.  The blood in his brain starts heading south.  Blushing, he drags his eyes away. 

_It’s going to be amazing_ , he silently promises himself – and Danny.  He’s going to make it his new mission in life.

Danny pulls up outside the house and switches off the engine.  They look at each, their matching goofy smiles growing.  Danny exhales slowly, then dips in for another kiss.  It’s gentle, lingering, full of promise.  When he pulls away, his eyes are full of love.

Steve files the image away for future reference.  He steals another kiss, groans as Danny’s eager response makes his toes curl.  “You’re right,” he admits with a grimace as he pulls away.  “My timing sucks.”

Danny shakes his head as he gets out the car.  “Eight years, babe,” he says, coming round the car to take Steve’s cane and help him out.  “How hard can another two weeks be, huh?”

Steve takes his cane back.  As his hand brushes Danny’s sparks shoot down his spine.  It’s like his body’s woken up from hibernation.  “Fuck.”

Danny shakes his head in mock-despair but he’s laughing under his breath.  “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, slipping his arm round Steve’s waist and leading him up to the house. 

As he carefully climbs the steps to the lanai, leaning into Danny’s warm body, it crosses Steve’s mind that maybe he shouldn’t go to the mainland.  The temptation to stay here with Danny is so, _so_ strong. 

Then he walks into the house, and he knows he’s just fooling himself.  There are shadows still lurking in the corners, memories he’s tried to forget.  He’s damn sure Danny could keep him occupied for a little while, help him pretend everything’s okay.  But one day they’d be another Brad, something else would trigger the memories.  Only this time, Danny would be dragged in even further.  And that’s just not acceptable.  It’s not acceptable at all.

He can’t hide anymore from what happened to his family.  That scared kid inside him needs a voice, a chance to speak out.  But when he gets back it won’t just be his past waiting for him in this house: it’ll be his future too.

His future with Danny Williams.

THE END

 


End file.
